


Hard Work

by CaligulasPeri



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Wizards (Tales of Arcadia)
Genre: F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, M/M, Other, top reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:55:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28653843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaligulasPeri/pseuds/CaligulasPeri
Summary: You have two choices. Work hard and earn your keep, or allow these beings to be rid of you like you were nothing but trash. Your choice is obvious.
Relationships: Skrael/reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	Hard Work

Three months. It had been three months since your capture. Your master, Hisirdoux Casperan had spoken stories of this dangerous duo in the past...of their crimes against humanity, they need for destruction...but you had never known you would come close to meeting them.

A stupid assumption, you now realise. There was a reason Hisirdoux kept Nari, someone who had grown to be a beloved friend and ally, as close as he did.

From your sealed quarters, you have overheard many plans for your execution...and you believed every one of them. They didn’t care about killing off their bargaining chip, as long as it left the master wizard distraught...but you knew him, he would be distraught already, and killing you would mean nothing could stop his wrath. Not even the power of two ancient, angry demigods. 

And now, three months later, the only reason you still lived, is your use. You cleaned like your life depended on it- which, it did, in all honesty. At first, the confusion was evident- you had cleaned your entire, dusty room to a gleaming finish. With what little tools you _did_ have. It then moved on to them tentatively letting you out...whether to eat, or clean, and there would always be one to watch you with a keen eye. Metaphorically, in Bellroc’s case. Hah. A month later and you were granted complete free reign. Your magic was pathetic at this stage, so overtaken by locking runes and spells which were marred like magical brands into your skin, they were not worried about your escape in the slightest. And if you jumped from the castle in an attempt to free yourself...well, you would no longer be their problem. Win-win. 

And then...the castle needed no more maintenance. Shelves had been fixed, books dusted, beds upholstered, cracked walls sealed. It would be simple to upkeep for the duo in the future, alone. You found yourself doing nothing but sleeping or reading all day if you weren’t _pretending_ to make yourself busy. You knew they knew. All you could do is wait, and hope.

The discussion or your demise cropped up once more before long, exactly as you had suspected, and you knew you had to find another route before finally grew fed up. Your only saving grace was the fact that Skrael had enjoyed irritating and pushing you around, but even he had his limits. What once were complaints of Bellroc wanting to get rid of his toy, turned into grumbles and shrugs along with their suggestions. 

It was late one night that a suggestion had you jolting upright on your excuse of a bed. The weathered fabric gripped in your white-knuckled fists. Oh, gods. Would it even work? If it insulted them more than pleasing them, you would die, obviously. But if you don’t do anything, you would die, too. There was no other choice you could make. You had to prove your worth to them, somehow...even if it is only until Hisirdoux finally works out a plan. 

You knew they would not be asleep at this time. You hadn’t once seen them sleep, honestly. Many attempts to catch them off guard when they rested at night proved that...you had never, ever, seen them even laying down. Do demigods even need sleep? Skrael has a bed in his room, that's certain, but Bellroc’s chamber was too cluttered and coated with soot to tell. That was the only room you were forbidden from cleaning. 

Slowly, your bare feet step down the cold stone hall, squinting against the darkness until you find Skrael’s room. The intricately carved wooden door is marked with hundreds of illustrations of ancient beasts and battles...why a little demigod like himself would need a door fit for a troll, you will never know. Oh, he would _hate_ getting told that to his face. You’ll remember to shout that at him when you’re being rescued. It tales one push, then another, harder one to open the double doors. Frost creeped out from the crack in the centre, gluing it shut. But inevitably, with a slight crackle and a deep creak, the doors slide open. They grate against the icy floor when they open a little further, so you give up, and instead squeeze yourself through the small crack that is available...ah, so a small demigod _doesn’t_ , in fact, need a big door. It was easy to see that he only opened it enough for _him_ to fit through, judging by the scrape marks on the ice-coated floor. 

The ice is a semi-opaque white, so scuffed from regular wear that you do not slip as you move deeper into the room. The demigod is perched silently on the end of his curtained bed, legs folded neatly as he hunched rather carelessly over a book almost as thick as his torso. Each page was yellowed, and yet it still seemed to be in use, seeing as he held a quill delicately in one frostbitten hand. An inkwell floated precariously over a pile of furs to his right, and you can see the glint of those eyes glowering at you from under the ridge of his helm. 

He doesn’t speak, but you know by now that he is awaiting an explanation...an explanation that does not come swiftly. Instead, you climb onto the overly large bed, pushing aside a deer fur to sit right behind him. His body is stiff, thoroughly irritated as he cranes his neck just enough to watch you. The familiar tingle of magic over your skin eludes to the fact he was mere seconds from ragdolling you across the room.

“...I wanted to check up on you. See if you..wanted any company.” There's an incredulous air to him the moment the words leave your mouth, and his quill lowers, resting horizontally on the page. 

“Check up on me.” He mutters, his voice dripping with a mocking intent. “You are in no place to be checking up on _me_. Remove yourself from my quarters.” He barely gets to finish his sentence before you start up again, shaking your head. 

“No, I-..don’t mean _that_ kind of company.” And at that moment, you swallow that last ounce of bitter fear and lean forward, arms winding around his waist and chin resting on his outer shoulder, not close enough to his face to leave him on edge or suspicious. One hand is low straight away, the pads of your fingers resting on the crook of his thigh, closest to his abdomen, while the other lay flat against his body. All through his clothing, of course...you didn’t want to push it and get eviscerated where you sat.

“Ah.” He drawls, coming to that realisation, a tense sneer to his lips. Despite his expression, his body straightens up, thin fingers pushing the book shut with the quill acting as a bookmark. He would no doubt be irritated with the inevitable inkblot scarring on the page, but for now, all of his attention was on you. “And what, exactly, do you propose we do, hm?” He’s still incredulous, but at least now he seemed to be paying attention. Not only that, but he seems...tentatively willing. 

He can no doubt feel how your jaw tenses against his shoulder at the question. What * _were_ you willing to do? “I..-“ Your hand lowers further, searching for the edge of his cloak. “I could...suck you off..” You start, but that wandering hand soon finds what it was searching for. Slipped under his cloak and underclothes, your fingers come into contact with the thin cloth of his underwear. And...there's no bulge. No dick. “...Oh.” 

Amusement crinkles the corner of his eyes at the reaction, and he cant conceal the grin that spreads at your reaction. “Oh? And how do you propose you do that?” His cold hand meets yours under his clothing, the rough palm flat against your knuckles as he pushes you to touch him a little more firmly. You can make out the outline of _something_ , now, at least...okay. He has a vagina. No problem, you could deal with this, too. Just...not what you expected. 

“Sorry, I'm sorry, I could- eat you out?” Your voice is high with nerves, which only furthers his amusement. No, you had to be confident here, or he’ll never believe you can do enough to please him. Your fingertips slip below his underwear and keep travelling down where they hook towards you, three fingers settling between his already mildly slicked folds. His weight shifts back, and to your surprise he leans against your chest, head falling back against your shoulder. His head was tilted to the side so a helm horn didn’t take out a tooth, pressed quite uncomfortably across the top of your head. 

“I have no clue, mortal. Could you?” One hand rises to press a thumb under your chin, lifting an inch while he side eyes you. His legs had fallen open now, and after swallowing the lump in your throat, you make a choked sound of confirmation. 

“I can. I will. I mean. If you want me to.” Oh, he’s totally going to kill you.

“Then do it. Foolish creature. My patience grows thin.” He was sneering again, the curl of his lip baring teeth just inches from your cheek. You certainly don’t need to be warned twice. Two fingers search, then instantly press inside. You can only get up to the second knuckle at this angle, but it seems to be enough, judging by the shudder his body let out and the way he clutched the sheets to his right. Calming yourself, you slow your pace, fingertips rubbing idly over his inner walls. Your other hand had joined the first now, hiking his cloak up a little for ease of access and slipping his underwear down to his mid thighs- a very difficult task while you were both sitting like this! 

Would a demigod even have a clit? Actually, no, that's an idiotic question. Of course he would have. Maybe. Hopefully. The fingers of your spare hand rub in tiny circles around the area where you _hope_ his clit might be, and- yup, there it is. His reaction comes before you can even process feeling it, his back arching and arm curving up to hook around the back of your head, clinging to you and letting out an almost silent gasp. His eyes are half-lidded, eyes struggling to watch the movements of your hands below his clothes. 

“Mnh....perhaps...you aren’t _quite_ as useless as I was led to believe.” Comes his breathless voice. His hips roll upward, and it takes everyone you have not to grin with the triumph swelling in your chest. The job has only just started, and you have to do it well. 

You give him no mercy.

Your hands get straight to work, the two in his pussy rubbing and scissoring, a third being added before he can even comprehend what's going on. The hand on his clit is ruthless, pinching and grinding against the poor thing till it was swollen and sensitive, pulsing needily under your touch. It was when a particular thrust of your fingers leads to a wet squelch that you figured you were doing a good job. He was _soaking_ wet, staining the sheets below him with a wet patch...but he was still quiet.

The only sounds escaping his lips were breathy little gasps and ‘ah’s. He was holding back. But for what? For pride? To prevent Bellroc from hearing? You wanted to change that.

In an out of the blue decision, you tear away from his grasp, pulling your hands away in an instant and unfolding a leg to climb around him, letting him fall back against the bed now that your form was no longer there to hold him up. He only grunts in stunned confusion, eyes wide and hands rippling with icy blue magic, unsure if this was an attack. He’s met with a look of pure determination. You shove his cloak up past his belly, along with his underclothes, and tug his underwear down pat his knees. With a humorous flick of your wrist the piece of cloth goes flying, lying in an undignified heap on the floor...and he looks unimpressed as he leans up on his elbows, allowing his legs to part, bent at the knee.

Now that he’s laying like this, you can see the most intimate part of him clearer than you assume anyone ever has. Your curiosity overcomes you as you sink two fingers inside, right up to the palm while spreading those dripping folds with a thumb. “Have you ever...done this before?” 

He scoffs, but falters at the touch, his insides rippling around the digits. “Fornication? Of course I have. What do you think I am, an antisocial cretin?” You share a look for a solid five, silent seconds, and he has an energy that screams ‘Answer that and I’ll gut you where you kneel’. You withhold an eye roll, and dip your head down, licking down his inner thigh teasingly. You slowly lower yourself till you lay flat on your belly, cheek pressed to the cold skin of his thigh. You’ve recoiled your fingers now, but the mere ghost of your hot breath between his legs makes the muscles in his belly visibly tighten with anticipation. He was enjoying this more than he let on. 

You move tentatively and slowly at first, spreading him with both thumbs so you can drag just the tip of your tongue through his inner folds. It catches on the rim of his hole, and he sucks in a breath, letting his head fall back once more. One more lap of your tongue and you stop at his clit, pressing down firmly against it before closing your mouth, wrapping your lips around the little nub and sucking, tongue moving in tight circles. It gains you the exact reaction you were searching for- a groan of pleasure, a hand in your hair, gripping tight and keeping you down. 

You decide to spice things up. It's a simple spell, really- one that Hisirdoux would go _off_ on you for misusing to such a horrific degree. If anything, he should congratulate you for being resourceful! You summon a tendril of pure magic from your palm, about as thick as three fingers side by side, which teases instantly at his hole. The tip is tapered, and it pops inside with ease, but not without a visceral reaction from the demigod is was intruding. 

He had expressed immediate shock at the intrusion, recognising what it was in record time. 

“Yyyou, _tricky_ little beast— ah!” You didn’t want him to get distracted and angry. The tendril shut him up in an instant, shoving in nice and deep and coiling in on itself with a ripple, all in the span of three seconds. You can see the movement of it under the thin skin of his belly, and a glance upwards makes you _wish_ you had your phone for a photograph or two. His eyes are rolled up in his head, back arched just a little and fingers curled in the sheets. 

The tendril continues on its path after arching back on itself, intertwining with its own length until it makes a... _literal_ knot. A thick ball right at the tip, that drags so roughly against his inner walls it makes him see stars at the edges of his vision. You give him a moment, then allow the tendril to move in a swift, rough thrusting motion. It's driving him crazy, you _know_ it is, his legs are shaking and he’s squirming pathetically, whimpering out muttered words in an ancient language you don’t recognise in between moans. “Hh-a..ah! Ah! Ce-ease, I- I cant..!” His voice is high with a desperation that you ignore in favour of leaning down and continue to lap and suck at his clit with no mercy, his poor hole being pounded with the very magic he sought to control right below your chin. He’s so close. So, _so_ close, you can just feel it...and you were right. He cries out with a babbled plead for mercy, drool dripping down his chin. 

His belly ripples and clenches down, and his insides tighten around the tendril so hard you could feel it wearing on the physical form of the magic, squeezing in waves that match the intensity of his whimpers. You don’t slow down until those squeezes stop, and when you do pull back, a string of slick and saliva connects your bottom lip to his clit. 

You drag the back of your hand over your damp lips and finally look up, which causes an immediate pause. His jaw was clenched tight, eyes brimmed with tears and brow pinched as he stared down at you. Ah...he’s oversensitive...or touch starved. Either or, its information that should come in incredibly handy at a later date. Crystallising tears are dripping down his cheeks, soaking into the coarse fabric of his cloak as he tried and failing to conceal his face with a thin arm. 

“Don’t...you _dare_...” Come his almost whispered words. He knows exactly what you were planning next. The knotted tendril shifts down, just an inch, and his breath momentarily quickens. Then, like pulling a bandaid, you pull it out with an audible pop and a keen from the demigod’s lips. He snarls down at you and snaps his teeth, but gives up just as soon as he starts, flopping back down to cover his face and catch his breath.

Your hand smoothes up along a jutting hip, and you press a tender kiss to his thigh to soothe him, then his belly...and you don’t stop the eye contact. He’s staring at you now, lost for words as you slide further up his petite body, both hands resting just above the dip of his waist as you press one last kiss under his jaw. His chin lifts, body relaxing and throat baring, but the tears have stopped now. He’s...relaxed. Calm. Something not commonly seen by others on a being such as himself. It's...cute. You almost find yourself admiring him...he’s adorable, in a freaky kidnapping genocidal maniac way. Ugh.

A tingle on your tongue quickly distracts you from these thoughts, and there's a moment of clarity, but as the sensation grows stronger, you can't help but snort and bark out a laugh, sitting up and slapping a hand over your mouth as you cackle. Oh god. His slick tastes like mint. This is quite literally a mint reaction. He doesn’t like this, of course, and his expression darkens as he stares with an expression that can only be described as shock and humiliated horror. It melts into anger, and with one swift movement, he lifts his leg and shoves his foot against your face, pushing himself up the bed, away from you while you yelp and throw your arms out to avoid a nasty fall off the edge of the mattress. “Get _out_. You have done your part, you imbecile. Leave me to my devices.” Ah...no immediate death. That's a surprise. But you aren’t about to stand around and find out- you clamber to your feet, give your lips another good wipe with your sleeve, and try not to giggle as you scramble out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Lmk if y'all would be interested in seeing a chapter about Bellroc! And leave suggestions for what you'd like to see 👀


End file.
